


Lifeforms

by Auchen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 19:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auchen/pseuds/Auchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it only makes sense that they are  inevitably always drawn back together. After all, everything in the universe exerts gravity on everything else. Here they are—still circling each other like two lonely bodies in space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifeforms

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to write a drabble after the sad, touching scenes we had between Fitzsimmons last night. The fic title is from a song of the same name by the band Daughter.

Their relationship has always been a symbiotic one. Never one without the other, both of them helping each other reach their goals (and helping each other to _live_ ). No wonder she feels like she’s still lost at sea.

She visits him daily, watching the heart monitor steadily beep, a constant reminder that the Fitz she knows may still be somewhere inside that inert body. How strange and terrible it is that everything we are is contained within pink folds of flesh, she thinks.

She holds his hand and carries on one sided conversations with him, giving him updates on their battle with Hydra. She hardly mentions Ward, because that wound is too fresh for both of them.

The week after their worlds fell apart, she brings him a sock monkey and settles it next to his pillow. He always eyed them in the windows of stores they passed when they were buying equipment during shopping trips.

That day she also brought a science book to read to him, because science is the only thing that has been constant in their lives besides each other. She folds over the page on thermodynamics, though she can’t find it in herself to read that section yet.

She leaves the book on the nightstand by his bed.

She returns the next day with half of a buffalo sandwich. She almost puts it on the book next to him, but decides that would be too hopeful even for her. She says nothing today. She closes her eyes.

Perhaps it only makes sense that they are inevitably always drawn back together. After all, everything in the universe exerts gravity on everything else. Here they are—still circling each other like two lonely bodies in space.

She presses her palm against his.

His fingers curl around her own.


End file.
